Debra’s Natural Gourmet in West Concord Village (celebrating 30 years in business in 2020) is an old-fashioned health food store nestled perfectly into 21st century life. Like the food co-ops of the 70’s, Debra’s emanates an air of coffee and cumin, with something curried always simmering on the stove. The shelves display just the right balance of hippy-crunchy and farm-to-table, with everything from CBD treatments and on-tap kombucha to local artisan cheeses and fine chocolates. You can find homeopathic remedies for what ails you and a thick, syrupy bottle of Aceto Balsamico di Modena; hemp fabric scarves are displayed near a freezer full of local meat and fish; there’s an unparalleled bulk bin section for all your pulses, flours, seeds and spices, tucked away behind a produce nook brimming with fresh greens and seasonal vegetables from nearby farms, supplemented by organic staples from far away. You can buy just about everything you need at Debra’s, with friendly staff to help you find it, and always with a smile. It’s a treasure.

So when Debra herself reached out and sent me the following missive, her Notes From a Food Shop During the Coronavirus, I knew it needed to be shared. It’s a window into the inner workings of a shop that probably ran like clockwork pre-pandemic; now it’s a daily scramble as deliveries are delayed and staff is in short supply.

We’re sure these scenes are repeating all over the Commonwealth and the country: small businesses doing what they do best in the face of extraordinary circumstances. The most important thing we can do is to support them now in whatever way we can, and as soon as it’s safe to do so, we’ll return with gusto, ready to shop ‘til we drop and #buylocal all year long.

Everywhere, in all the ways we come together, we can’t now. The coronavirus is frightening, spreading like the creeping unknown.

But people need to eat. Food is a vital resource, essential, and our 3,200 square-foot shop in West Concord, MA, is open.

Our staff arrive in the wee hours to meet trucks so we can have bananas on the shelf and eggs in the fridge and have enough oats, quinoa and pumpkin seeds as the food distribution systems face enormous pressure. We’re working the phones, calling our vendors, trying to source everything. We don’t want to run out of tea, honey or zinc lozenges. We don’t want to run out of N-acetyl cysteine (NAC) or tea tree oil. Our supply of toilet paper is holding, at least today. Our supply of PureGreen24 disinfectant is not.

On our frontlines, our staff receive more than 10,000 pounds of goods most every day. Every box has to be picked up, opened and emptied onto our shelves. Cardboard flattened and run outside to the recycling Dumpster.

Our kitchen is making homemade Mom’s Chicken Barley soup, and one of our staff had to drive to Chelsea to pick up chicken last week. Deliveries are spotty.

We’ve been told there’s going to be a shortage of plastic gloves in the near future. And maybe a shortage of paper bags.

Our credit card machines are touchy. Sanitizing triggered an internal tamper-resistant alarm system and shut them off. Credit card machines went down on a Saturday because First Data (the largest card processor in the country, and the one we use) went down along the entire East Coast.

Nearly half our staff are sheltering at home because they are recovering from surgery, just had twins, have underlying immune diseases, and/or family who don’t want them on the frontlines. Our staff over the age of 65, except two, are staying home. We two, MaryJane and I, have our reasons for being in the shop, and we are taking precautions.

Parents of our teenagers and college kids want them home. Each time another staffer calls to say they won’t be in, we get it, of course. We feel bereft. We don’t have time to mourn because the rest of us have to work harder, pick up the slack.

Everyone got “hazardous” pay a couple of weeks ago. Those who can’t come in are getting two week’s pay. Those who are coming in will get two week’s extra pay on top of what they’re more than earning on our frontlines.

Long-range plan? We don’t want to lay anyone off, and we want to survive.

Farmer Ray, who grows much of the produce we sell in the summer and works alongside us in his off-season, said people need us to be calm, to be here for them. Another staffer said, “I think my mom’s proud of me.” Alex in produce says it’s our customers getting us through. Amy in wellness said we’re trying to tilt faces to the sun. Meditating.

Roxanne, our kitchen manager, figured out how to keep pots simmering on the stove while social distancing in our small kitchen. She’s the one who started saying things like, “We can’t allow self-serve from our kombucha machine.”

A couple of weeks ago, one of our staffers sang “Stop! In the Name of Love” to shoppers to remind them to maintain six feet apart the way we do now. She got some folks to actually laugh.

Despite everything, there is laughter in our shop. But the stress is unremitting.

Our old-fashioned store where everyone knows your name is launching on-line ordering. In the meantime, as we can, we’re putting people’s groceries outside on our bench or next to their cars. We’re letting in 10 customers at a time.

The phone keeps ringing. We stop what we’re doing and listen. “Why do you allow any children in the store?” asks one. What do we say to folks who want us to ban potatoes in bins because people can touch them? Potatoes get roasted, boiled or steamed. We think they’re safe.

Our shelves are refilled daily. Mostly. Mike Bronner, President of Dr. Bronner’s—one of our suppliers—wrote that last month, their sales of hand sanitizer went up internationally over 600%, much of that going to hard-hit areas in Asia. “With fears penetrating the US, we will only be able to meet 60% of demand—at best. We’re also keeping a reserve of 2% of production to donate to the hardest hit, low-income communities and the organizations that serve them.”

Our customers send us emails. “Thank you for being our port in the storm,” said one. “The familiar, homey smells and the patient, friendly staff grounded me,” wrote another.

In the store, one lovely lady said, “I’m so glad you’re open. Thank you for being open. Please stay open. But no pressure, really.” She stopped. We looked at each other. We grinned. “Really, no pressure,” she repeated.

Last week we got a call that the truck due to make an early morning delivery wouldn’t show. United Natural Foods (UNFI) couldn’t say when or if we’d get any delivery.

The next morning, the truck just showed up.

This week, our KeHe (distributor) truck arrived, and the driver handed over a single case of toilet paper.

No baking yeast, no frozen vegetables or gluten-free breads. One case of toilet paper. I’m driven to post on Facebook things like remember to keep the membranes inside noses moist. Massage something oily up the nose because dry nasal passages make it easier for viruses to attach and invade.

In the shop, we see our health care workers zip in. Our police and firemen stop by. We have electricity. We turn on a tap, and water comes out. We know so many on the frontline are working hard.

I’m holding tight to what my son, Adam, said, “Farmers are still farming. Chickens are still laying. Cows are still giving milk.”

The sun continues to rise. We will get through this.

DEBRA STARK
West Concord, Massachusetts